The Break Up
by Love Out Of Lust
Summary: Brendan breaks up with Ste when his father Seamus comes to stay. This will have two parts.
1. Chapter 1

It is a Tuesday when you leave him. You'd settled on the previous Sunday, but you got distracted by certain things, cast astray. You'd taken the kids to the park and they'd dressed up in their winter gear. Steven was wearing a ridiculous bobble hat, a Christmas present from Amy that you would have loved to burn, but he swung out of reach when you made an attempt to grab it.

"Stop it, you!"

He'd let out that booming laugh of his then, jumping over the ice like an overexcited child, trying to get away from you.

"It's an abomination."

"I think it quite suits me."

He flashed you a smile then, and you got that sinking feeling in your gut. How the hell were you going to do this now, with him looking at you like that?

He started taking off the scarf which had been wrapped around him.

"Steven, what are you doing? You'll freeze to death."

The only goose bumps you liked to see on his skin were when you traced his collarbone delicately with your fingers.

"Come here."

Frowning, you had stepped closer to him, Leah and Lucas playing in front of you.

He reached out and put the scarf around your own neck then, tying it securely in place. Immediately the biting cold that had been ascending since you'd left the flat lessened its grip. You wondered how on earth Steven's skin could constantly be warm, because you felt it then, that the warmth was from him. His own body, rather than the material.

He had insisted you take a scarf with you when you set out earlier, but you told him that you didn't really _do_ scarves, despite it being January and the snow only just clearing up. You weren't like Steven, a knitted jumper kind of guy. You thought of that as a rather bad habit that he'd picked up from Douglas, although you couldn't always argue against it when you lay your head against his shoulders when you curled up watching tv together, and he became your own version of a pillow.

You couldn't refuse him then though, not when his hands were still around the loose ends of the scarf, and he was using them to pull you in for a kiss. You hesitated for a moment, looking at Leah and Lucas, but they continued to play on with the last vestiges of snow, looking for all the world like watching the two men before them standing less than two centimeters apart was a normal event. And you supposed it was for them, after living with Douglas, although you tried to not think of that. The idea of Douglas being their step father and sharing Steven's bed was a memory that you very much wanted to remain in the past.

Steven's lips had an icy quality to them, but they soon warmed up against yours. Kissing him was both new and wonderfully familiar each time. You had a strange kind of rhythm now, a way of doing things. You knew how he liked to anchor your head closer to his using his hands on the back of your neck. You liked feeling his cheek against your palm, and moving your and his tongues together gradually, changing the exploration from one of gentleness to intimacy. Yet each time you discovered something different about him. The joy of kissing him after he had eaten something sweet, and still had that taste of chocolate in his mouth. The bash of teeth against teeth when you were desperate for him, hungry. You never knew that kissing the same person everyday could hold the beauty that it did.

You tried to break away, but his kiss had lingered, and it was harder to resist than even you'd ever thought. When you drew apart his smile was like sunshine, and you could have stared at him forever.

When you got back to his flat, you planned to do it then. Wait till the kids were settled, and then sit him down and tell him.

_This isn't working for me. This...relationship. I don't want to be with you anymore. _

You kept on imagining the look on his face, and whether he'd cry in front of you or not. Or maybe he'd be angry with you, furious, shouting in your face. You would prefer that. You could take his fury, but you couldn't take his sadness, his disappointment. His pain.

You tried to think of each single second as it came. You couldn't allow your mind to drift to that evening, your first without him since Christmas. Of course you'd miss the physical aspects, because nothing had ever been as good as sex with Steven. But it was more than that. Much, much more.

You weren't sure you even knew how to sleep without him anymore, although God knows you'd had years of being alone in your own bed. You'd got used to him hogging the covers, of making those muffled sounds, not close to a snore, but like he was consumed by dreams, and his body was trying to figure them out.

You'd miss the way you woke up with him spooned against you. His hair would be messy with sleep, and sometimes you'd lie awake, gently untangle yourself from him, and stare at his features, at his chest as it rose and fell.

Sometimes you weren't entirely sure if Steven was human, because you didn't see how someone could be that perfect. No wonder you'd had to beat down all the other competition before. His eyelashes reminded you of that Disney film Bambi that you and Cheryl used to watch when you were kids. They looked even longer when he was asleep, and once or twice you tried to count how many lashes he had, your own version of counting sheep.

You loved how long and pointed his nose was, and the warmth of his eyes, and how they would blaze when he became passionate about something, which knowing Steven amounted to every other minute. You'd been with men in the past who'd been muscular, who had broad shoulders like yourself, sculptured chests - men who clearly spent a good few hours at the gym.

But there was something about Steven. He molded against you as though you fitted together like a glove. But he was strong too, and flexible. You'd learnt that early on, and made good use of it, bending his legs in half when you were in bed together, preparing him, stroking him, licking him, sucking him. You wouldn't even have to hold him in place, because he had that strength himself.

You'd miss the way he loved you, as unconditional as any love could be. No matter what day you'd had, you could come to his flat and know that you'd find something there. Acceptance, you supposed it was. Arms opened wide to let you in, to envelope you completely. You could have faced a hundred bastards at work, you could have had Joel's sullen face to deal with, you could have fucked up the accounts or ordered the wrong stock. You could have seen your father with Cheryl, seen him hug her or stroke her hand. But when you were with Steven, that all seemed to numb into nothingness, and his happiness became your happiness.

You were losing the light in your life, and so when the moment came when the kids had warmed up after their walk, and Steven and you were sitting round the table, steaming mugs of tea in your hands, you'd hesitated. You couldn't do it.

You couldn't stand to wipe the smile off his face. He had plans for you that night. Put the kids to bed early, and watch a film, just the two of you. He would cook anything you liked, and you knew without having to ask what it would lead to. You were surprised you hadn't already done the bed more damage, considering how old and downright rickety it was. You'd been planning to buy Steven a new one, a luxury double bed, silk sheets, the works, but you thought that perhaps that didn't matter now. If you had to think about Steven being with another man again, you were damned if you were going to buy them a bed to fuck on.

You could live the rest of your life like this, exactly like this. Being with him, sharing responsibility of the kids. You cursed yourself that you'd wasted so much time for two years, when you could have been like this the entire time. Dealing with peoples looks and whispered remarks had almost become part of the fun. You'd watch as they looked for that second too long at your and Steven's interlocked hands, and stare them down till they looked away. You'd practically barked in the faces of a group of lads who'd made comments when you'd been kissing in The Dog.

But you couldn't deal with _him_ looking. With _him _knowing. You'd wanted to avoid the whole situation entirely, to keep Steven as far away from him as possible. You must have been an idiot to think that you could have done that forever. Seamus wasn't just paying a flying visit like you'd been expecting. He seemed to be putting down roots, like he was planning on staying a while.

Cheryl had told him. Said it had slipped out, like _your son is gay _can ever just slip out. But you'd still been hopeful, believed that as long as you could keep your relationship with Steven under wraps, then it could all still be okay. You should have known that Seamus would find out somehow, that he'd follow you like he always had, that you couldn't escape from him.

To know that he'd watched you while you ran into Steven in the village made your stomach turn. You imagined him watching from the alleyway, seeing you kiss the boy, seeing him take your hand. You hated the thought of your father's eyes being on him for one single moment. All you'd told Steven was that your father was back, and you didn't know how long for. You'd seen the boy struggling with what to say, before he eventually settled on putting his arms around you and asking if you were okay.

"Why wouldn't I be okay?"

You needed to be strong in this.

"After what you told me outside the police station..."

"You remember that?" You couldn't hide the wonderment in your voice.

"Of course I do. I remember everything you tell me."

You'd stroked down the shaven sides of his hair, felt it spike against your hand. It was wonderfully soft.

"I don't want you two to meet, Steven."

He'd pulled back from you then, his eyes wide.

"Are you...do you not want him to know who I am?"

"It's not like that." And it wasn't. "He's not...he's not a good man. I don't want you to get to know someone like that."

You'd expected him to put up a fight, to accuse you of hiding out again, of being ashamed of him. But he'd stilled for a moment, and been quiet. Then he'd looked up at you, and spoke firmly.

"Okay. I won't see him."

You'd blinked, surprised. "You mean it?"

"Yeah. I won't go over to the flat. We can meet here instead."

You had breathed a sigh of relief, feeling like some of the tension you'd been feeling since you'd got back from Dublin and found your father waiting for you had dissipated.

"Thank you."

"You can come round here whenever. I mean, if you don't want to see him. You can stay here."

You couldn't believe he was doing this for you, that he was understanding all of this without arguing back, or driving you away. But then he'd been like this for a long time, hadn't he? Your pillar of strength.

For a little while you'd believed that if you could just keep Steven away from your father, then you could manage this. You envisioned the day when your dad would tell you he was going back home, and you'd be free of him from the house again, his looming presence causing a constant dark, suffocating shadow over you. You'd be able to invite Steven round again, to see him spread over the sofa where he belonged, lounging in his pajamas, being able to pad about the place naked when Cheryl would be out for the night.

You'd gone to bed on the Sunday with Steven cocooned in your arms, the soundest sleep you'd had for a good long while. Everything in your gut was telling you to hang onto the boy for dear life, that you couldn't live without him anymore. You didn't care if you were being fucking selfish. You'd only just got him back, and you couldn't imagine what you'd say to him that would have him believing that what you said on that bridge in Dublin wasn't true. You briefly considered punching him again, anything to shake his belief and devotion to you, but it went out of your mind as quickly as it came into it. You couldn't do that to him again. The last time you'd hit him had cost you both dearly. You'd laid awake every night when you were apart and thought about it, how he'd laid on the floor bleeding, a single tear rolling down his cheek. He'd told you so himself when he'd come to Dublin to find you.

_So you thought you were saving me by hurting me, Brendan? You know what, you really can be a complete idiot sometimes. _

The next day you'd put all thoughts of leaving Steven out of your mind. So what if Seamus had seen you together, and found out that you were with him? You could still protect Steven. They had still never officially met. It was all going to be okay.

You'd been walking to the club, texting Steven to see what time he could meet up later that day, when you'd seen them. They were standing outside Price Slice, Steven having just been in to buy a pint of milk. Seamus was holding a bag with the morning papers, and they were talking, as casually as if they'd been two friends who'd bumped into each other.

You felt more sick than you had in a long time. More sick than after you and Steven had seen the New Year in together in style. More sick than when sawed away at Mick's body.

You tried to walk up to them calmly, but it felt more like a run. Steven noticed your presence first, and when he looked at you his brow creased. You wondered how you must look.

You tried to gauge the expression on your father's face when he turned to face you, but you couldn't make it out. There was nothing there.

"What are you two doing?"

Steven had looked between you and Seamus worriedly. His arms were crossed in a defensive position, and you desperately wanted to know if it was because Seamus had done something to make him feel uncomfortable.

"Just catching up with Ste here," Seamus had said, and again, there was nothing in his voice.

You tried to control your breathing, to keep your voice normal. The last thing you needed was for Steven to worry.

"Steven, why don't you get to work? You've got a deli to run, haven't you?"

For once, you were intensely relieved that Steven was going to see Douglas.

You watched his retreating back, then once he was out of earshot you immediately turned to Seamus.

"What the hell are you doing?"

You thought you saw the hint of a smile then.

"I'm just talking to your boy, Brendan."

He said _your boy _like it was slime on his shoe.

"I've been here a couple of weeks now, and you haven't even introduced us."

"That was intentional."

Seamus shook his head. "You know, I'm going to be here for a long time. I like this place. It could make a good home."

You couldn't accept what you were hearing.

"This place will never be your home."

"I don't see why you have to be difficult about this. If this...Ste...is a part of your life, then I should get to know him, don't you think?"

You felt cold fear run through you. This would be the point where you'd be right up in someones face, telling them the odds. But you didn't want to take a step closer to your father.

"You stay away from him. You pass him in the street like that again, you go in the other direction."

Seamus merely tutted. "I don't see why you have to make everything so difficult, son. I just want us to all get on. I was thinking of getting Cheryl to invite the lad round for a family meal."

Your head was pounding so fiercely that you thought you'd be seeing stars soon.

"No," you said quickly, desperately. "I'll tell her not to."

Seamus chucked then, like he was laughing at a joke.

"I think we both know who Cheryl's always listened to in this family, eh? Now I better get back. She'll be wondering where I am."

You felt him pass by you then, his jacket grazing against your own. The smallest touch would make you feel his presence around you all day.

Only one thing was capable of making you forget, and you knew then that you had to let it go. You had to let Steven go.

It consumed you all day in the club, until Joel caught you leaning over the books at your desk, not having read a single word in fifteen minutes.

"Brendan?"

You could hear someone calling, but it was as if through a fog.

"Brendan?"

You heard it properly that time, but it was so unimportant next to all the thoughts you were having, next to the plan you were forming.

You waved Joel away after reassuring him that you were fine, and you made sure you locked the door that time. You didn't need any disturbances or distractions. The last thing you needed was something that would make you change your mind again.

You had thought that you could keep Steven safe, that you could build a wall that would separate him and your father, but it was already crumbling at the seams. One word from Cheryl and she would override you and invite Steven round. You couldn't keep him locked up and hidden away from the world forever. She was bound to ask questions, and so was he. What if he started telling you that people could change, that you should give your father a second chance?

You knew you had only two choices. Break up with Steven so that there would be no family dinners, no meetings. Your father wouldn't care about talking to him in the street if he was no longer your boyfriend, no longer part of your life. He would be safe.

Or you could tell Steven and Cheryl the real reason why you could never allow them to sit in the same room. Why the mere thought of Seamus looking at Steven made you terrified, and furious.

You could tell them what had happened when you were eight.

It wasn't really a choice at all. You would finish with him.

You knew the boy wouldn't let you go easily. You would have to plant that seed of doubt in his mind. Make him think that things weren't working, although how the hell you'd manage to do that within a few days, you had no idea. Part of you wanted for him to believe the truth, that your love for him was unshakeable, that to be apart from him was to be in hell. But you knew that for his own good he had to think that you didn't want him anymore.

You begun as soon as you reached work. You deleted the text that you were going to send him, and avoided contacting him all day. At times you'd have to turn off your phone to stop from doing so, and your fingers twitched in agitation with your desire to hear his voice.

You didn't get lunch at Carter and Hay like you usually did. Instead you went to College Coffee during the time that you knew Steven was most busy, so that you wouldn't bump into him. The sandwich didn't taste as good. Steven knew just how you liked it, the right consistency of everything. He knew how you took your coffee. He liked making it with extra froth so he could laugh at the foam tache that he created. You remembered how he liked to stick his finger out and scoop up the froth from your face, and then lick it, like a promise of what was to come that night.

At four o'clock you got your first text from him.

_Hope you're not too busy to eat lunch! x_

You deleted it immediately, not wanting to stare at the kiss at the end of it any longer. You distracted yourself with mundane tasks, for preparing to open that night. It was at times like that when you wished that the place had more customers, that the business would be a welcome relief from your own mind.

At eight o'clock the next text came.

_Do you want to come over tonight? x_

You hadn't ignored more than one message from him in a long time. In the past you'd had to stop yourself from calling him while he was at work, just to see how he was. You had known that you were being selfish, that you just wanted him to make your day better, like only he could. You pictured him at the deli, a frown on his face, wondering what was so important that you'd ignored him for hours on end.

At nine o'clock you got a voicemail. You considered erasing it straight away, but the masochist in you couldn't resist listening.

"_Hi Bren, it's me. Sorry for calling, I know you must be really busy to not reply to my messages."_

You inwardly kicked yourself for making him think that you couldn't talk to him. You could hear the slight hesitancy in his voice. Subtle, but there nonetheless. You would always hate yourself for making him believe that he was chasing you, that you were withdrawing, detaching yourself.

"_I just wanted to see if you're free tonight. I managed to get a babysistter for the kids."_

Fuck. He'd actually managed to organise it. You'd talked about getting a sitter for weeks so you could have one night completely alone together. You could imagine him waiting for you at the flat, stripped down to his boxers, all yours to enjoy.

You'd never wanted anything so much.

Before you knew it, you'd typed out a message.

_Of course I'm free. I'm sorry for not contacting you before. Something came up, but I'll come over as soon as I'm done here._

You were about to send it when your finger stilled on the button. You remembered Seamus's words in the village earlier that morning. The way he was looking at Steven before you'd interrupted.

You hastily switched off your phone.

When your shift was over you walked back home as quickly as you could, scanning the streets for any sign of Steven. It had been several weeks since you'd spent the night at home, and it felt strange going back there. Cheryl and Seamus were watching television together, and Cheryl stared up at you in surprise.

"Are you not staying at Ste's tonight?"

You shook your head, avoiding your father's gaze.

That night you considered putting a chair in front of your door, but then felt faintly ridiculous for it. You didn't need something else protecting you. You could protect yourself. Realistically you knew that Seamus wouldn't try anything. Not now you were older, and could fight back. He wouldn't dare.

But the knowledge that he was sleeping just a few doors down never left you. You wondered if he got any sleep that night either.

The next morning, you'd been scared to turn on your phone. You'd imagined a series of angry messages from Steven, asking you where you'd been, that he'd spent money hiring a babysitter and you hadn't even gone round. You knew that you couldn't do this forever, that today you'd have to tell him it was over. He deserved more than you ending your relationship than slowing phasing out your communication with him. You'd have to be a fucking man and pick up the phone sometime.

You were surprised when you saw not a single message from him. You felt a stab of disappointment that he hadn't tried to contact you again. Maybe your role in his life really wasn't as pronounced as you'd thought it was. If he hadn't come round to your place if you'd asked him to then you'd be round the flat, demanding what had happened. But then perhaps Steven didn't need you as much as you needed him.

Suddenly you wondered if something had happened to him. If between the last time he'd contacted you at nine and now, he'd had an accident. What if...what if Seamus had gone round to the flat, and things had got out of hand...

You'd rushed out of bed then, throwing on your clothes hurriedly. You distantly heard Cheryl ask where you were off to in such a rush, but you continued walking, threading your hands through your hair in panic.

Your not so brilliant plan already felt like it was falling apart. You should have contacted Steven, you should have told him that you couldn't go round, but at least make sure that he was alright.

You ran down the steps of the flat two at a time, and didn't stop till you were outside the deli.

Looking into the glass, you let out an intake of breath when you saw Steven inside, handing out coffees to the first customers of the day. He looked fine, better than fine, and the images you'd had of Seamus's hands on him vanished.

You tried to compose yourself, to be able to reach a point where you'd be able to go back upstairs so he wouldn't see you, but you should have known that he'd always had a sixth sense when you'd been around, and before you could stop it, he'd turned his head and seen you standing outside.

He stared closer, as if trying to make sure it was really you, then waved for you to come in. You considered running for it there and then, but reminded yourself of your earlier thought. _Be a fucking man. _

You swung the door open and approached the counter. You were grateful that Douglas was in the kitchen, because you didn't need this to be any more awkward than it already was.

You could tell straight away that Steven was angry with you. He had that closed off, detached expression that he got when he was in a sulk, his bottom lip jutting out. Usually you'd find it somewhere between exasperating and adorable, but that day you wanted more. You wanted more of his anger than that, because it was only what you deserved.

"So you decided to show your face then?"

That sarky voice. The boy had more guts than anyone you'd ever known.

"Uh...yeah..." You tried to keep your voice neutral.

You kept on thinking it in your mind. _Today. I have to break up with him today._

"You got my messages?"

"Yes..."

"But chose not to reply?"

"Steven..."

Maybe you'd been wrong about thinking that he didn't care.

"Don't you 'Steven' me. I tried to cancel on Myra McQueen, but she wouldn't let me. Said we had some sort of business agreement. A business agreement for babysitting! Do you know how much I paid for you?"

"No -"

"And I cooked all evening, lighted candles, tidied up the place."

You felt your heart beating hard in your chest. He'd lighted candles. Fuck.

"And you can't even be bothered to tell me you're not going to turn up!"

You didn't have to fake your guilt. You felt it tear into you, but you had to not let it show too much. It was better for him if he thought you didn't care.

"Sorry Steven, I was busy."

He snorted, and sliced open a panini with a bit more vigor than necessary.

"What were you so busy doing?"

"The club was packed, I had a late night."

"On a Monday?"

"People still have that post Christmas cheer I guess," you said feebly.

He shook his head, barely looking at you.

"Look, I should go. I've got a lot to do today."

You turned on your heel and began heading for the door, when his voice called you back.

"How are you going to make it up to me then?"

You couldn't believe that he was still willing to give you a chance. Part of you had hoped that would be it. That he'd finish with you for being a bastard, and you'd be able to end the whole thing silently and with minimal fuss.

But what was it that Steven had said that time? After you and him had argued over you hitting a punter who'd called him queer.

_We're in a relationship, Brendan. I'm not just going to break up with you after one argument. That's what this is all about. Us working through things together._

"Uh...I'm not sure..."

"I am." He smiled a little then. "Come over to mine this evening. Six o'clock. Maybe we can find some way for you to apologise."

You stared into his eyes, which were full of hope. Still with complete trust in you. And you realised that there wasn't going to be an easy way to do this.

You tried to come up with excuses in your mind as to why you couldn't go. All of them made sense, but you couldn't face telling Steven. And what if you didn't go? Would he go out somewhere else, and run into your father? You knew that Seamus went to the pub to drink in the evenings sometimes, and while you'd been secure in the past that Steven would turn round and leave if he saw him in there, you weren't sure of anything anymore. Maybe he'd want to defy you, and if it was late, and they were walking home in the dark...

When you grabbed your jacket to leave for Steven's later that night, you unconsciously stuffed a condom in the back of your jeans pocket, then hesitated, and removed it again. You wouldn't be needing that tonight. You had already decided that you wouldn't sleep with Steven again. That wouldn't be fair. It would be taking what you needed from him, showing him that you wanted him, and then doing something that would give him the complete opposite message. You couldn't let him think that you had just used him for sex.

Your knock on his door felt nothing like your usual assured entrance. You hoped that when he answered he'd still be in a mood, cold and with only one word answers to give, but he beamed at you, bright and so dazzlingly gorgeous that you hated yourself for what you'd planned even more.

"What are you doing standing in the cold? Come in!" You realised that your hesitancy must be showing.

Before you could take your jacket off he was on you, kissing you.

You broke it off. "I've barely even got through the door."

"Since when has that ever stopped you?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

You went through to the living room, where Leah and Lucas were sat in their pajamas, watching cartoons. They looked like they were barely keeping their eyes open, but when they saw you they leapt up, rushing towards you.

"Brendan!" they called simultaneously, hugging you around your knees.

You stroked their hair affectionately. They were beautiful kids. You knew that Leah wasn't Steven's own - he'd always been upfront about that with you. She looked like her mother, but somehow she was so much like her father. Her personality, her boldness. Lucas was more shy, but when you picked him up he seemed to settle and relax in your arms. You wondered if a part of him remembered when you used to do it to him when he was younger, in the times when you'd make your unexpected visits.

"Alright you two, now you've seen Brendan it's off to bed."

You listened to their protests, watching as Steven took them by their hands and led them to their bedrooms. Leah and Lucas had only been in your life properly for a matter of weeks, and yet you felt like they were already your family. They were Steven's, and you loved them on principle.

He closed their door quietly, then came back to join you.

"They should be asleep soon. They only stayed up so they could see you."

You couldn't help but smile.

You began to make your way towards the sofa, but he reached out for your arm.

"Not there. Come on."

He motioned for you to follow him, and he walked towards his bedroom.

You knew what was coming, and you wanted to run out of the house there and then. That was exactly what you had wanted to avoid.

When you were both inside the bedroom, Steven closed the door. He'd installed a lock a week ago after the kids had burst in when he'd been going down on you. Thank God the covers had hidden both his head and your body, but you'd both had some explaining to do, eventually settling on the "Ste was trying to find uncle Brendan's missing sock" excuse.

You sorely wished that the lock was not there then, and that Leah and Lucas would interrupt you. But it was silent, the only noise being the faint sound of Steven's jumper and t-shirt hitting the floor as he removed them.

"What are you -" you begun, but he stole your words with a kiss.

"I didn't know I could miss sex so much after one night," he said with a grin, and you knew exactly what he meant.

His hands started working the fasten of your jeans. You knew how easy it sounded in principle. All you had to do was step back, away from his hold. Just a few simple words, and he would be free from you, free from Seamus. But the smooth lines of his skin were in front of you, his expert hands shucking off your pants, his face full of complete love and understanding, and you couldn't deny him anything.

You reached out and stroked his chest, felt your hands travel over his little stiff, pink nipples. Your instinct took over, and you pulled him over to you forcefully. He laughed at first, taken aback by the change in your behaviour, then settled in your arms and kissed you back with the same amount of passion that you used with him.

You backed him towards the bed and pushed him down onto it, where he landed with a soft thud. He had that look in his eyes, that look that said that he knew exactly what you were going to do to him, and was asking for all of it, everything you had to give him.

You shook yourself out of your jeans, and removed your boxers in one fluid motion. Your cock was thick already. Steven wasn't the only one who had found the night apart difficult.

He raced to get his own clothes off, and nearly fell off the bed doing so. He laughed, and you couldn't help but do the same. You loved his eagerness, his lack of shame.

You wanted to be inside him so much that you felt like your skin was on fire. You lay on top of him and felt the rub of smooth skin against your own hairier body, creating a delicious friction of sorts. Steven's body was a beautiful contrast, the soft, hairless upper half contrasting with the fuzz of his legs and pubic hair. You moaned against his mouth when tasting him, the resolve to end things only making you want him that much more.

He reached for your cock between your colliding bodies and stroked it firmly, making it more erect.

You began to pant, and turned your face against his neck, sucking the skin there until it was red from your actions.

You wished he wasn't so good at this, working you into a frenzy. It would be so much easier to leave him if he didn't have such a hold over your heart and body. But instead he clasped both tightly in his hands, worshipping them, making you never want to walk away.

You shifted up in the bed, and he moved with you.

"Brendan..." his voice was muffled. "Get a thingy."

Steven's rather non eloquent word for a condom.

You were about to make a grab for one when you remembered that you had left it at home.

"I uh...I don't have one."

Steven sighed deeply, running his fingers through your hair.

"Well don't worry about it."

Don't worry about it? Was that your chance to get out of there, to stop doing this thing that you knew was wrong?

"Okay..."

"We've both been tested anyway."

You frowned. "You want me to sleep with you without a condom?"

He nodded, his hand moving down to touch your lips.

"I'm not planning to be with anyone else, so...are you?"

You shook your head on instinct, then wished you hadn't. But how could you tell Steven that you planned to be with someone else soon? Anyone but him, because he was the only person who was for keeps. The only one you wanted to look after.

Truthfully, days before you had been going to suggest to him that you stop with condoms completely.

"Good. So...come on." He wrapped his legs more securely around your waist and stroked your arse with the sole of his foot. The way he was looking, you knew he wanted it now. No foreplay, no messing around. He wanted you to be in him, to make up for the night spent away from each other.

"I haven't got any lube. I don't want to hurt you."

Steven rolled his eyes. "I don't care. Come on Brendan, for fucks sake."

You grinned a little at that. Your sex life had definitely not been something you'd ever worried about.

You positioned yourself at Steven's entrance, and slowly guided your cock inside him. He was tight, and you regretted letting him get you caught up in his urgency. You watched his face for signs that he was in pain, but he closed his eyes, and his face looked calm, almost relaxed, like he was somewhere beautiful.

You begun with deep, measured thrusts at first, and the boy clung to you, kissing you as you moved. He rolled his hips up to meet yours, and you were reminded of how amazing he was, how he was your match in every way.

Steven leaned forwards and licked a stripe across your lips, and you felt his warm breath ghost across your face. He clawed at your back and then moved his hands to squeeze your arse, drawing it closer to him, and you knew that was his indication to go faster, harder.

You kissed him again, just because you could, just because it felt lovely, and the bed, that damn unstable bed, squeaked with your thrusts.

You didn't care, and from the looks of it, neither did he. You wanted to make the bed squeak as loud as possible.

Suddenly you were aware of a noise, an unwelcome intrusion. You looked at where the sound was coming from, and saw your phone flashing from the table where you'd placed it when you'd taken your jeans off.

"Leave it," Steven said, noticing your dwindled attention, but you couldn't leave it. You had a feeling. You weren't sure why, but you had one.

You made an effort to still your body, and reached over to the table to pick up your phone.

_Home_

You wondered who it would be. Cheryl, calling to ask you if you'd be back that night? Or Seamus, checking up on you. He knew that you wouldn't answer to his mobile, that you hadn't even kept his number in your phone.

You rejected the call, and pulled out of Steven. He winced, then sat up with you on the bed.

"Who was it?"

"Home."

"Why didn't you answer it then?"

You shrugged. You felt suddenly exhausted. Exhausted of the whole thing, and desperately wanting to stay with this man, but knowing you couldn't.

Steven placed his hands either side of your shoulders. He was still hot from sex, his face shining with sweat.

"Come back to bed then."

You were already in bed, but you knew what he meant. He meant come back to him.

"I have to go, Steven."

You got up properly then, your cock springing before you, still hard. You quickly tucked it inside your boxers.

"Why?"

You hated hearing the confusion in his voice, the edge of sadness.

"I can't be here." Finally, you were telling the truth.

He laughed in disbelief. "What do you mean, can't be here?"

You turned to face him as you put your t-shirt over your head. The sheets were bundled around him, but you could still see all of him.

"Put some clothes on."

Somehow it felt wrong doing it like that, with him completely naked before you.

He rose from the bed and put some boxers on. An old striped pair that you had fond memories of, although you teased him enough about them.

"What's going on? First you act all weird yesterday, then this morning,..and now you're suddenly leaving?"

You'd made a terrible mistake in sleeping with him. You'd confused things, jumbled them in your mind. God knows what he must have been thinking.

"I'm sorry." You said it because it was true and honest. Perhaps the only honest thing about all of this.

"Don't be sorry, I can't do anything with sorry. Just tell me what's wrong."

There wasn't the annoyance that you expected from him. Only concern.

"I can't do this anymore."

It sounded like a bad break up line from a movie, but you didn't know what else to say.

Steven moved his head to one side, as if trying to comprehend what you were saying. His eyes were large and vulnerable.

"What? What are you talking about?"

You reminded yourself that you could live with this, even if it felt impossible right then. You couldn't live with Seamus ridiculing Steven, or manipulating him, or hurting him.

"It's over. I don't want to be with you."


	2. Chapter 2

"It's over. I don't want to be with you."

"What?"

You think you must have misheard him. There's no way that Brendan would say this to you. Not anymore. Not after you made a promise to each other.

He looks down at the floor. "I'm sorry, I don't want to be with you."

You laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"Don't be stupid. Stop saying that."

He bends down to pick his jeans up off the floor. You are only wearing your boxers, and it's not exactly warm in the flat, but you're not supposed to be out from the covers like this. You're meant to be wrapped beneath them, with him. This was meant to be his chance to make it up to you for yesterday, for the sudden silence, for leaving you on your own all night.

Less than five minutes ago he was inside you, his lips on your neck, your cheek, your jaw. Now he can barely even look at you.

"Brendan, where are you going?"

"I shouldn't of come here, I shouldn't of done that..."

"What are you talking about?" You can hear the panic rising in your voice now. "You're my boyfriend, of course you should."

He says nothing, just continues to put his clothes on.

You don't want to wake Leah and Lucas, but you suddenly feel furious. Why is he doing this? Is it some sort of joke, a way for him to keep you on your toes? Does he want you to beg him, is that it?

Brendan heads for the door.

"What are you doing? Where are you going?"

"Get out of my way."

"No! You can't just say something like that and leave. You're not the only one who has a say in this."

He rubs his temple, and you realise how tired he looks. Really, really tired.

"Please, just...stay with me."

"I can't." His voice has softened, and you want to comfort him, even after what he's just said to you.

You move forwards and extend your arms. He immediately backs away, and you try to hide the hurt you feel.

"I don't understand. What's happened?"

"I just...don't feel the same way anymore," he says quietly.

You swallow. "About me?"

"You should put some clothes on, Steven."

You hate the way he's being with you, like a parent scolding an unruly child. Speaking down to you, not telling you the truth, as if you couldn't take it, couldn't understand.

"For fucks sake, just tell me what's happening. This doesn't make any sense. A few weeks ago we're in Dublin and you're telling me that you'll love me forever, and now you're taking all that back, are you?"

"That was then..."

You scoff. "So I guess forever isn't long in your world, right? I should of known. With your track record I guess it must extend to a few weeks, a month if I was lucky."

You know you're being unfair on him, that it feels like acid is spewing from your mouth, that there must be a reason for all this. But he's not giving you one.

Suddenly something comes into your head. An ugly thought which twists and turns in your imagination, creating its own story.

"Is there someone else?"

Brendan looks at you sharply. "What?"

"Is there another guy, is that was this is? Is that what you were busy doing last night?"

"Steven -"

"Is he someone at the club? Some drunk lad who came onto you and you didn't say no?"

He looks mildly disgusted with you.

"You think that?"

"It wouldn't exactly be surprising, with your past. You tried to sleep with my boyfriend."

"Jesus Steven, that was two years ago. We weren't even together at the time. And I thought we agreed to not drag up the past?"

He has some fucking nerve to say that to you now.

"We also agreed that this was it, that we were done playing games and messing everything up again."

He opens his mouth, then looks at you for a moment, and closes it.

"I'm not seeing someone else."

You want to believe him, and part of you does, unequivocally. You believed him when he had told you that there had been no one else for him, that in two years, no matter who he'd been with, you'd been the only one occupying his mind.

"I'm sorry, okay? But...things haven't been..." you struggle to find the words, to explain this thing that's been kept hidden for the last few weeks, unsaid.

"Things haven't been the same since we got back from Dublin. When we were there, it felt like you were...free, or something. You were happy. You didn't care if someone saw us together, or kissing. When we got back, it was like you...you check over your shoulder when we're in public, like you're watching for someone, someone to tell us that what we're doing is wrong. It's like you're not always here with me."

You are sure that you see something like tears in Brendan's eyes.

"Are you...ashamed of me?"

It hurts just to ask that, because you fear the answer, the sound of 'yes' even in the silence.

"Never," he says, and you haven't heard such conviction in his voice since he told you he loved you on that bridge.

"If you could know how proud of you I am, Steven..."

You can believe it. He is looking at you in that way he does sometimes, like you are something precious.

"I don't understand then. What's wrong? Is it your dad, because I know that -"

"I've told you already, I don't want to be with you. Do you have to keep on pushing it?"

You haven't heard Brendan talk like that in a long time. Without a trace of warmth in his voice.

You can't accept the idea that he is leaving you. You swore to yourself that you'd never be sad because of this man again, and here he is, making you want to hold onto his feet and plead with him to stay. You won't allow yourself to be that pathetic again.

"Well sorry if I'm a bit confused Brendan, but you help me look after the kids, you stay over at my house, you sleep in my bed, you just have sex with me, and then you suddenly tell me you don't want me after you get a phone call."

"Keep it down, won't you? You're going to wake the kids."

"Yeah, and what am I going to tell them? Their friend Brendan who's been in their lives non stop since we got back has suddenly disappeared? They already went through that with Doug. They don't deserve this. Do you want me to tell them that you don't love their dad anymore?"

You could hear a pin drop in the room.

Your hands are shaking. "You do...you do still love me, don't you?"

The thought that he doesn't is unbearable. You are torturing yourself by asking him.

"I'm sorry, I have to go."

You can't believe he hasn't answered you.

Despite your promise to yourself, you reach out to him to keep him here, but he is already out of the room, and moments later you hear the front door shut, no trace of him left behind other than the imprint of him in your bed.

You are cold, and back towards the bed, getting under the covers again, drawing them over you. The tick of your bedside clock suddenly seems loud, like it is reminding you of every second that Brendan has been gone.

You can't possibly work out how this could of happened. You'd known that things had been difficult, that Brendan hated having his father in the village, and you can hardly blame him. Having your mum back for a few days was bad enough, so you can't imagine what you'd do if Terry turned up unannounced.

But you know that Brendan would be the first person you'd turn to if that happened. You'd feel safe with him. That doesn't make much sense to people, Amy and Doug especially, but you feel secure in Brendan's arms. You know that he will take care of you, that he'd kill anyone who tried to hurt you, and that that's no idle threat. It has made you fear him in the past, made you scared of what he's capable of, but no matter how many times you've tried to shake him, he remains the thing that you want.

But you are obviously not that person for him. Not his safety, his comfort. Whatever has been going on for him these past few weeks has remained locked in his mind, a barrier between you. You know him, and you know that he'd rather push you away than tell you what's really going on.

You don't know how many times you can keep on doing this though. Being the one who fights for him. The one who goes to him after he kisses you in front of a club full of people, and tell him that you can be together now, that everything's changed. The one who goes to him weeks after your wedding, weeks before you're due to leave for America, and kiss him. The one who turns your back on your marriage to follow him to Ireland, and go back to his hotel, even after you'd found him in bed with John Paul McQueen.

You wonder how many more times it'll be before you finally snap for good, and tell him that you can't keep on being rejected and hit and broken up with. The frightening truth is that perhaps you never will, that you're doomed to forever follow Brendan's down this path of his, wherever it leads, and however destructive.

You love the idiot. And you're not ready to give up that fight yet.

You take your phone out and dial his number. As you expected, it goes straight to voicemail. He is ignoring you. Again.

If Brendan meant what he said to you in Dublin, then he won't be able to stay away.

"_I can't believe you just left without even saying goodbye."_

"_I would have been back. People think I'm strong, but I'm not. I realised it as soon as I got here, that I wouldn't be able to stay away forever. It would have been days, weeks, before I booked a ticket home, back to you. I'm not a hero, Steven. Heroes don't have these weaknesses like I do."_

"_I'm a weakness?"_

"_My biggest one."_

You will stay up all night for him if you have to. You can't stand the thought of him coming back here and leaving if he sees you asleep. What if that could have been your chance, your change to figure out what's been wrong?

You lie back against your pillow and keep your phone in your hand so you will feel it if it vibrates.

God, you miss him already.

* * *

You don't know what time you fall asleep. Three, four o'clock perhaps, when the door doesn't open, when you don't get any messages or calls. When a small part of you gives up hope, and you know that he won't come that night.

You wish you could spend the day in bed, but without Amy here you have to keep things afloat. Make sure the kids are up and dressed for school. Run there before going to open the deli. You're aware of not being in a mood around Doug, that the last thing you want is for him to ask questions, and think that something's happened between you and Brendan. Ever since he's got back from America you wonder if he's waiting for things to go wrong, for Brendan to slip up again, so that he can say I told you so.

You can't blame Doug though. He's taking it well considering. If Brendan had married you despite being in love with someone else, then left you at the airport when you were about to start a new life together because he was chasing after another man, you'd have torn him to shreds after. The fact that Doug manages to work alongside you at all is a miracle.

But then Brendan never would marry you, would he? From the looks of it he finds it hard to even be in the same room with you anymore.

When it comes to lunchtime at the deli you're halfway through preparing a cheese and ham panini when you stop.

"What's wrong?" Doug says, noticing your sudden stillness.

"Nothing."

You throw the panini in the bin.

"Ste, what are you doing? We can't afford to be wasting food."

"No one ever comes in for that, do they? They want the posh stuff."

"Well yeah, except for -"

"Listen Doug, I don't need a lecture today, alright?"

He raises his hands up in a defensive position, then continues getting supplies from the kitchen. You're being a dick, but you can't seem to stop yourself this morning. This joke of Brendan's is wearing increasingly thin, and you wish he would just step through the door so you can start yelling at him, and then get back to how things used to be.

At three o'clock you're sure that he comes in. Your back is turned while getting ready an order, but there's something about the footsteps. You could swear that you're about to turn around and see Brendan's blue eyes staring back into yours, him making a terrible joke that contains an apology in there somewhere.

It's a Brady. Just the wrong one.

"Oh...hi."

"I thought I'd see what this place looks like from the inside."

Seamus stares round at the deli, and you feel suddenly self conscious of the place, aware of the chips in the paint on the walls, the smallness of it all.

"It's nice."

For some reason you don't believe him.

"Can I get you something? A coffee, or..."

"No no. I'm not staying. I just thought I'd see if Brendan had talked to you about a meal at all?"

"A meal?"

"Yes. I mentioned it to him before. You coming over to the flat, just the four of us."

"Er..."

You're guessing Brendan didn't have time to mention it, not when he was so busy trying to push you out.

"No, he didn't say anything."

Seamus smiles. "What a surprise."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm sure my son's told you all about our past."

"_Before my dad left and he'd been drinking, he used to come home, drag me out of bed and we'd spar. I was always half asleep, dead on my feet. I could never duck fast enough, hit back hard enough. I was always a big soft girl. Poof. Queer. When I moved in with Cheryl's ma, I picked a fight with him and I knocked him out cold. The look on his face...I took the power back."_

"Yeah, he's told me."

It had been one of the only things that had stopped you from reporting Brendan to the police after he'd hit you. What he'd told you outside of the station had been more than you'd ever thought he'd share with you about his family. All you knew before then was that Brendan's father had left when he was young. When you'd tried to broach the subject he'd made it clear that it wasn't something you were ever going to discuss.

"Then you'll know that I've made mistakes. But I'm trying to put things right."

You stare at him. He sounds genuine enough, and you know all about second chances. In Brendan's case he's onto chance number a hundred by now. But it's different when you love someone. You don't want to give them up. Seamus is just a stranger. All you really know about him is that he hurt the man you love.

"Look, I'll talk to Brendan about the dinner. I can't promise anything."

Seamus nods curtly, then heads for the door. When he's gone the atmosphere immediately shifts. Perhaps it is his history with Brendan that makes you uncomfortable, but there is just something about him. You felt it when you first properly met him the other day. He never said a word against you to your face, and his expression gave nothing away. But there is something, and you don't know what it is.

When it's time for your shift to end, you know what you're going home to. You'll be able to distract yourself for a bit with the kids, but once they're asleep it'll just be you again. It's only been three days and yet you feel empty without him in your bed, without waking up pressed against him.

You imagine him staring at his phone in a similar way, but what if that's just wishful thinking? He could have already moved onto someone else now.

Sighing, you pick up your phone. After a few rings you get through.

"Hi Tony, it's Ste. I'm sorry to call you, I know it's kind of out of the blue. But I was wondering if you could look after the kids for me tonight?"

* * *

You haven't been to this place in two years, but you remember how to get there easily enough. It's more or less as you remembered it, the lighting still a dark blue inside, people huddled around tables, intimate.

You should have known that bringing Brendan here for your first attempt at a date was a mistake. No wonder he'd bolted out of the window and gone back to Ireland the first chance he'd got.

This is a place where couples go. When you step through the door you're immediately greeted with the sight of two guys kissing in front of you. You can't stand that kind of stuff. Not if you're not the one on the inside, part of the happiness.

You don't know why you've come here, but you had to get out of the flat. You wanted somewhere where you could think, that wasn't too crowded, but away from the village. You can't risk bumping into Brendan. You can imagine him walking in the other direction away from you, and seeing that would be more than you could take.

After you order a beer you sit at a table away from everyone else, keeping your head down.

You try to keep your mind away from its favourite topic, but it wanders there constantly. You wonder if he'd like the soft music that they play in here. You imagine him downing a whiskey, maybe getting something to eat, because Brendan is always hungry. You picture crumbs getting stuck in his moustache, and you brushing them away for him. His foot rubbing against yours under the table.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

You look up suddenly, startled. A guy is standing in front of you, around the same age as you from the looks of it. Dark hair, tanned skin, a friendly, open smile. Athletic. Good looking.

"No thanks, I'm set," you say, holding up your still half full beer bottle.

"Maybe the next round then?"

"I think he said no. As in, fuck off."

You know who it is immediately. If his Irish accent didn't give him away, then his angry, possessive tone sure did.

"Brendan!"

The guy looks between you both warily. For a moment it seems like he's about to say something to save his dignity, but one look at Brendan's face up in his, and he walks off with his tail between his legs, muttering something that sounds a lot like 'psycho'.

"What the hell are you doing?" You hiss at him.

He's still staring after the guy.

"Brendan!"

He turns towards you, looking exasperated.

"I leave you alone for a few seconds, and you've already got your own little fan club after you?"

"Leave me alone after - you dumped me!"

People are staring now, but you're damned if you care.

"What are you even doing here?"

He shuffles from foot to foot. He always gets like this when he's nervous, avoiding your eyes, fidgeting, looking like a schoolboy who's just been told off.

"I was just...you know, in the area."

Your eyes narrow.

"Did you follow me here?"

His eyes widen. "Steven, are you really trying to say that I -"

"Did you follow me here?" You repeat through gritted teeth.

"Yes."

You shake your head. You can't believe this.

"Where are you going?" Brendan asks, sounding panicked as you stand up and put your coat on.

"I'm not staying to listen to this. You can keep your stalking stories for someone who cares."

You push past him. Once you're out of the bar you start running to try and get some distance between you. The wind is cold against your skin, and you soon feel numb and raw, trying to stop yourself from shaking.

A part of you wants to get as far away from Brendan as possible, and another part, the part that sickens you, felt your heart leap when you saw him. You realise you _like_ the protectiveness, the way he warns off other men. You like the fact that he gets jealous, that he wants you all to himself. You've never had someone want you so badly, so fiercely. It is all consuming, and you know that you should fight against it, but you give into the pull every time. You like Brendan Brady just the way he is.

You think you've lost him, that he's given up trying to follow you, but then you realise that he's been beside you the entire time.

"Are you going to follow me all the way home?"

"Please, just get in the car," he says, window wound down while you stand on the pavement.

"Forget it. I'd rather walk."

You're not ready to forgive him yet. Not by a long shot. Not until he's given you some kind of explanation for yesterday.

"Steven, stop being so stubborn, won't you?"

That makes you see red.

"I'm not the one who ended our relationship last night."

Brendan has the decency to look guilty for that. Is that why he's here, out of some sense of shame for what he did? You want him to be here because he wants it. Because he's missed you just as much as you've missed him.

"Just...let me give you a lift back home."

"I thought you didn't want me anywhere near you?"

He closes his eyes, and rubs them. He looks like he hasn't slept all night either, but that must be wishful thinking, because that would mean he cared. If he did, then he couldn't have done what he did to you.

He mumbles something.

"You what?" You ask, curious against your better nature.

"I always want you near me, Steven."

You can't help but be thrilled by his words. Two years without Brendan barely telling you he liked you has led to you clinging onto every compliment, every time the word love is spoken. Coming from him, it means so much more.

"Fine. But only because I'm cold."

You get into the car, making a big show of it, sighing and crossing your arms, facing resolutely away from him.

For a few minutes he drives in silence. He doesn't look like his usual smart and tailored self, his typical work suit having been replaced by a pair of jogging bottoms that he'd usually wear around your place when you're having a night in together. You wonder how long he's been following you. Whether he was holed up outside the flat for hours, planning on staying there all night.

Brendan turns up the heater in the car, and the earlier chill is now replaced by a snug warmth. You feel sleepy suddenly. You would have given anything for this feeling last night, when you wanted rest from your mind. You feel safe now. Relaxed, despite what's happened between you and him. You know he will look after you, that you could lie back and close your eyes now, and he would carry you to your bed, kissing your forehead and spooning you with his body which you know almost better than your own.

"You weren't really going to get with that guy, were you?"

You're shocked by his question that breaks the quiet. Your plan to ignore him is futile.

"I'm single, aren't I?"

Even the word sounds alien. You haven't been single in a long time, not since Doug was just a friend to you, and you hadn't even known he was gay.

Brendan's grip on the wheel tightens.

"So what was the plan? Go to a bar, pick up a bloke, invite him back to your place while Tony babysits your kids?"

You roll your eyes at him. Perhaps you shouldn't have pushed him, teased him, but you can't believe he honestly believes you would do something like that.

"You're one to talk. Did you have to leave John Paul naked in your bed to follow me here?"

It's a low blow, something you haven't mentioned since the night that you found them together in Dublin, but it feels like a strange relief, to voice something that's been nagging at you since you broke up.

"Jesus Steven. You think I'd..."

"You did before."

"Yeah, that's when I thought you were in America with your husband. Not after we were...you know..."

"What?" You want him to say it.

"You know..." he stumbles over his words. "A...couple."

He really shouldn't still have the ability to delight you.

"Are you saying you wouldn't then?"

"Of course I wouldn't."

"Not even if someone offered? Some young guy, good looking, skinny, your type?"

'No." You're surprised by the firmness of his tone. "Why would I want anyone else? Look at you."

"Oh, so you're just after me for my looks, are you?"

"Oh, for fucks sake. You're impossible."

Maybe you should cut him some slack, but you're rather enjoying this.

"So why do you like me then?"

"I just said. You're impossible."

You scrunch your nose up. "What?"

"You never stop talking, or arguing, or mouthing back. You challenge me. You make me want to bang my head against the wall half the time."

"Is this supposed to make me forgive you, or...?"

You see him grin in the moonlight.

"You don't take any crap from anyone, Steven. I've never met anyone more passionate, or with more balls."

You raise your eyebrows at that, and he looks down at your crotch suggestively.

Only Brendan could have you feeling angry and aroused and wanting to laugh all at once.

"And that is why I _love_ you."

The car slows down, and you realise that you're already in the village. You want to tell him to keep going, that he could drive you wherever you wanted, far away into some foreign land, and you'd let him. You'd go with him.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to face him. He stares at you, his eyes cast downwards. He looks vulnerable, and so, so young. Like he is waiting for something. Forgiveness.

"What's going on, Bren? First you break up with me, and now you're here."

"I know. Believe me, I didn't plan this."

"Which part?"

"The being here part," he says honestly.

Your shoulders sag. You were hoping for a different answer.

"I tried to stay away, but...you were there in my head. The entire time. I couldn't even sleep without you. How pathetic is that?"

"Not pathetic at all." You think of your own restless night. "Look, why don't you come inside? We can talk."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Brendan, the last time you thought of a 'good idea' you ended up hurting me and leaving for Dublin."

He winches. Another reminder of the past you've both tried to bury. You're not saying it to wound him though. Not this time.

"Please. Just come in."

* * *

He seems just as nervous as the last time he was here when he enters the flat. He wraps his arms around his body as if wanting to make himself as small as possible. It almost hurts you to see him like this. You want to see him back to swaggering around the village like he owns it, to coming into the flat and his presence being felt so acutely that even hours after he's left you still feel him there.

You don't take him to your bedroom this time. Instead you both sit on the sofa. You lay a plate of crisps out on the table to give you something to do with your hands, to make any silences less awkward. For once he doesn't take a single one.

"What time are the kids coming back?"

Still trying to make small talk. Still trying to escape.

"You know, I don't think I've ever known someone so brave and so afraid."

He opens his mouth like a gaping fish.

"Where did that come from?"

"From you. From the way you've been since we came back from Dublin."

He looks away from you.

"It couldn't have been like that forever."

"No, don't give me that. Don't try and make me think this is some kind of honeymoon period that's cooled off. I know you. Something's not right. So what is it? Is it us being together where everyone we know can see? Are you embarrassed of what they'll say?"

Brendan shakes his head. "I couldn't really give a fuck what they say anymore."

"Is it Doug then? The fact that I'm still working with him?"

But it's not that. You know that it's not.

"I know you and Douglas are just friends."

You reach out for Brendan's hand which lies beside you. You gently squeeze his fingers.

"Why did you tell me you didn't want me anymore?"

He looks at you with soft blue eyes that you could get lost in.

"I just want what's best for you."

You laugh softly. "You keep on saying that. What's best for me is to be with you."

Brendan shakes his head, taking his hand out of your hold.

"Me and you both know that's not true. That it's never been true."

"Fine," you say, exasperated. "Maybe that's not what's best, or right. But it's what I want."

"I told you I loved you in Dublin because I thought that I could make you happy. I saw how much you needed for us to be together. How much I needed it. I thought that I could be a part of your life. That I could keep you safe."

"So what's changed?"

His voice is raw when he speaks. Strangled. "I can't keep you safe anymore. But I'm not sure I have the strength to stay away from you either."

"Then don't. Bren, I need you here with me."

You're worried that you're verging on desperate, but you are desperate, desperate to keep him here.

"You'd have been better off with Douglas. He wouldn't be putting you through this."

"Yeah, but I wouldn't have been this happy, would I?"

"You don't look very happy, Steven."

"Well maybe not now, because you're being an idiot."

He laughs, and when he looks at you his eyes shine.

"My whole life, I would have dealt with all this alone, you know? And then you happened. It's just...hard. To say those words out loud."

"What words?" You all but whisper, not wanting to break the spell, the truth that you think he's about to tell you.

"The words that I haven't ever told anyone. Not completely. You were right, what you said before. I am afraid."

He's never said that out loud to you before.

"I know. So am I."

You know everything's about to change.

"Bren?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to take a bath?"

He frowns out you, like he's misheard.

"A bath?"

You nod.

"I don't know..."

"You're my boyfriend, aren't you?" Your voice shakes, awaiting the answer.

After a moment's pause he smiles softly.

"Yes."

"And you're staying the night?"

"If you'll have me."

You stand up, and hold your hand out to him.

Brendan hesitates, half looking like he wants to bolt out of the door. But then he decides to be brave.

You run the water until it's almost full to the brim, and warm to the touch. You strip out of your clothes while Brendan stands in the corner of the bathroom, his eyes traveling over you. You expect to feel self conscious, but instead you find yourself wanting him to see you like this. Naked, everything stripped back.

You climb into the bath as he begins to remove his jogging bottoms and top. The sight of his cock hanging down between his legs makes you brush your hands against your own dick, giving it a quick stroke to get the blood rushing into it.

He puts his legs either side of yours in the bath. It's a tight squeeze, but the closeness between you only makes it more intimate. Brendan lies down until everything but his neck is in the water, and his chest hair curls from the wetness.

"Shall I add bubbles?"

"No. I want to see all of you." The way he says it is enough to turn you on in an instant.

Your legs travel up his until they rest just below his crotch. He holds them and strokes the hair there, tickling your skin with his thumb.

You could just lie back and float away. But this is not about you. It's about him.

You move forwards and straddle his lap, and lean towards him and kiss his chest, then his mouth. It begins gently, but Brendan puts his hands in your hair, and you deepen it until you run out of breath.

When you draw apart you lie on his chest, and he strokes your back. It is disarmingly tender.

"What do you want me to wash first? Your hair, or...?" You ask into his skin.

"I'm capable of washing my own hair, Steven."

"I know. But I'm going to look after you now."

"Oh, are you?" His voice is light, but there's a questioning look behind his eyes.

"Yep. Forever."

He laughs. "Well, in that case, yes, you can start with my hair. Then move south."

"Funny, I had a feeling you were going to say that."

You exchange a smile.

You squirt some shampoo out and begins to rub it over his hair. He closes his eyes as you massage it in. You rub against his pelvis while you do so, and you hear him groan.

When you rinse it all out you carefully avoid his eyes, and then go straight downwards, lightly trailing the soap over his stomach, before taking his cock in your hands.

He leans closer towards you as you stroke him, and when you hit a rhythm he sucks on your shoulder, biting back his moans. It doesn't stop you from hearing him though.

"_Feels so fucking good."_

His cum disappears in the swirl of the water, and you kiss him again, openly, passionately.

You feel like holding onto him for dear life, so you do. You put your arms around him, and it is only when you are like this, not looking at each other, that you feel strong enough to say it.

"It's about your dad, isn't it?"

You know. You think maybe you've known all along.

You feel his shoulders move up and down, and you realise then that he's crying against you; big, heaving sobs.

You hold onto him tighter, trying to tell him that it's okay to be like this. That it's all okay.

He cries until there's no more tears to wring out.

* * *

Afterwards you both sit on your bed in your towels, drying each other off. You get out a pair of pajamas for him that he keeps in a drawer by your beside. His drawer. Usually he'd sleep naked or in a pair of boxers, but it's a cold night, and you don't want to see him shivering.

You put your own on and then a dressing gown. Tony will be around in less than an hour with the kids. You don't know if you could ever have enough time for Brendan to say what he needs to tell you.

You both climb under the covers, and you curl your feet over his, warming them up.

"I don't know where to start."

"Why don't you start at the beginning?"

"Is there such a thing?"

You lean against his shoulder. "Start where you want to start."

"When...when I tell you...can we just, stay like this for a little while? I mean just...exactly like this? Together."

He's suggesting something impossible. That this will change things between you and him.

"Yeah. We can stay like this for the rest of our lives."

He seems to gather strength from that.

He leans his head against yours, and begins to talk.


End file.
